


Tumblr Prompts

by orphan_account



Category: It - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, Prompt Fill, mostly reddie, multiple aus and ratings, specified per chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 23:59:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14604612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Want all my prompts from tumblr in one place? No? Too bad, here it is!





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Kill me with Richie and Eddie except it's angsty because they're in love"  
> from prompt list: Leave a “Kill Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character killing another.  
> reddie. major character death.

Even two towns over from Derry, the hospital was damn near full. Children were wailing, adults were arguing, doctors and nurses shouted to each other down the halls. The battered remains of a once proud Losers Club sat around a hospital bed, nothing but a curtain and their own sorrow keeping their moment private from the world. Eddie Kaspbrak lay motionless, attached to a ventilator to keep him breathing, his hand resting delicately in Richie Tozier’s own.

He hadn’t woken from his coma in five hours. They didn’t know when he would wake.

None of them had time to wash off or change clothes in the hectic transition from defeating It, to dragging themselves to the surface level of Derry, to going on the painful journey from hospital to hospital trying to find somewhere not packed fit to bursting. Bev’s hair was plastered to one side of her face with sewer water. Ben’s shirt dried to be stiff and crusty, and made cracking noises when he moved. Garbage and small weeds were tangled into Richie’s hair. Even Eddie smelled like shit and was covered in muck; if he were awake, he’d probably have an aneurysm. 

“I… I think we should find a hotel,” Bev stated, sometime around noon. All of their eyes were red rimmed and glassy - maybe from trauma, maybe from lack of sleep, likely both. Richie’s eyes tore away from Eddie for the first time all day.

“No way,” he answered immediately. “We’re staying right here.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Bev said, “and we– we can’t put his needs above–”

“Tread lightly here, Marsh.”

“I’m so fucking tired, Rich,” she blurted, her voice soft and fragile like a child. It was rare to see someone like Beverly so vulnerable, so shrunken and absolutely, purely  _exhausted_. “We’ve been through hell and back, too. We’re allowed to take a fucking second for ourselves. He’s…” Bev licked her teeth and ran a hand through her stiffened hair, “He’s not waking up anytime soon.” Richie fully turned away from her, facing Eddie completely.

“Then leave,” he said, shoulders tense. “But I’m staying. He wouldn’t wanna be alone here, he hates hospitals.” He gave her a heated glance and muttered, “If you actually cared about him, you’d know that.” Bev curled her fingers into fists, ready to fight and scream and make him wish he hadn’t even  _thought_  she didn’t care, but Ben stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

“He’s hurting,” he said, quiet enough that only they could hear it. “I’d– I think I’d feel the same way, if it was you.”

“You know my number if you need something,” she said, and reached over to put her hand on Richie’s shoulder. He relaxed at the touch, and guilt made her pull away. “Love you, Richie.”

“Love you, Bev.”

The two men were left alone. Richie stroked his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles and recounted stories he could remember, old jokes that weren’t all that funny anymore, held one way conversations in silly voices he knew Eddie would get pissed at him for, anything to fill the awful silence between them.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he was startled awake from Eddie’s EKG monitor going off. He practically jumped out of his seat, entire body rigid, holding onto Eddie’s hand tighter than ever before. ER nurses swarmed to Eddie’s bed, shouting orders at each other about  _flatlining_  and  _bp_  and  _resuscitation_. A short woman grabbed Richie by the arms and started to pull him away, claiming that he couldn’t be there, that he was getting in the way.

“What’s going on!? Is he dying!?” Richie tried to wrestle himself out of her grasp but she held firm. All he got to see was Eddie’s back arching from the hospital bed when a defibrillator made contact with his chest before the curtain was pulled closed; with him on the outside. His knees went weak, and he collapsed to floor. He hugged his arms around himself as he cried.

 

Dead for three minutes. They revived him, but they weren’t in the clear. He was going through a shock response.  _Multisystem organ failure_ , or something like that. The chances of him recovering were getting slimmer by the minute.

Yadda yadda. He was dying. Richie was completely fucking numb.

“So what can you do about it?” He asked. His own voice was a complete stranger to himself. This wasn’t Rich Tozier, the Man of 1,000 voices. This wasn’t even Richie Tozier, Trashmouth extraordinaire and proudly certified pain in the ass. This was just a miserable, terrified man who was watching the love of his life fade away right in front of him.

“Nothing,” some legal consultant with a sweaty brow and a comb-over told him. What a fucking day he must be having. “Mr. Kaspbrak is completely reliant on life support. It’s likely that his heart will stop many more times from here. We…” the legal consultant wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and cleared his throat, “we are afraid that we can’t expend any more resources on Mr. Kaspbrak, given the, the patients who might actually recover.”

“You–” Richie cut himself off and scrubbed his hands over his face. “What?”

“Who’s Mr. Kaspbrak’s next of kin?”

“That’d be me,” he said, because he might as well be. The consultant fished through his tattered briefcase and found a document filed away in a manila folder.

“Brother?”

“Husband,” he lied, gritting his teeth, and he didn’t know why. He remembered being twelve and wanting nothing more than to call himself Eddie’s husband. He never imagined saying it would make him feel so heartbroken.

“Even better,” the legal consultant said, not making eye contact with him when he placed the document in front of him. “We need your permission to take him off life support.” Richie felt all of his bones turn into rubber.

“You… want– you want me to-to-to– to sign off on you  _killing_  him?” He asked. He couldn’t breathe. A joke about how  _Eddie_  was supposed to be the one with asthma niggled at the back of his mind. It didn’t feel very funny.

“Please understand, this– Mr. Kaspbrak is going to die very, very soon. We cannot save his life. Either he dies now, peacefully, or later, in horrible, horrible pain. And our other patients–”

“Matter more than he does, right?”

“They need the resources we’re wasting on keeping him alive.”

Richie seethed, but he didn’t know at what. At the stupid legal consultant for asking this of him, at Bev and Ben for leaving him all alone, at Eddie for throwing away his life, at himself for fucking asking him to. He curled in on himself, elbows on his knees and fingers tangled in his matted hair. He didn’t want to let Eddie go. He didn’t want to sign his death warrant.

But exhaustion weighed down on him, and he knew what Eddie would want if he had the choice. The hospital was wasting resources on him that could save people. That big hearted son of a bitch would hate that.

“Give me a pen,” he said, voice cracking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ""Get me" but Eddie saves Richie this time"  
> from prompt list: Leave a “Get Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about one character saving another.  
> reddie

“Whaddaya say, mates? I’ll do your homework for two weeks! All’a youse guys!” Richie said. He was cornered by the boys bathroom. There were too many of them to attempt a run; if it didn’t work his ass was grass. To be fair, it didn’t look like negotiating with the wildlife was working either.

“Not interested,” one of them said. He was the biggest one, with a remarkable shoulder to hip ratio that made him look a bit like a dorito. It stopped being funny when he ripped out some of his hair trying to get his backpack off.

“Yeah, you’re probably failing most of your classes anyways,” he muttered to himself.

“What was that?”

“Just the name of my audiologist, you dumb fuck, I do say you might need hearing aids.” Big guy gave him a hard shove for that one, and his head smacked into the wall. He hoped it left enough of his brain cells intact that he could remember to take tylenol when he got home.

“Listen here you little  _shit–”_ He was cut off when a thick novel cracked down over his head. It wasn’t hard enough to knock him out, because god hated one Richie Tozier, but enough to make him duck away with a pained yowl.

“ _Leave him alone!”_ Eddie shouted, brandishing  _20,000 leagues under the sea_  up over his head. It was threatening for all of two seconds, two seconds that Richie might have manifested actual beating hearts in his eyes, until a bully smacked it out of his hands. The novel hit the floor with a clap that echoed down the empty hallway. The group of boys tittered at him.

“What’re you gonna do now, huh?”

“I’m gonna kick your ass for that!”

“Boys,” Richie called sweetly, “am I not good enough for your doting attention? I thought we had something! I was ready to let you suck my dick!” They started to turn back to him again, and Richie steeled himself for an onslaught of rough hits and verbal abuse with another petrified laugh bubbling high in his throat, but once again Eddie stopped it in its tracks.

“No!” He stomped his foot like a child and threw his backpack to the ground. “I’m tired of you screwing with us!” He pulled something out of his pocket, and Richie’s blood froze in his veins. It was a switchblade.

“Jesus fucking  _Christ,_  Eddie, where did you get that shit–” Eddie stopped him with a cold glare, and Richie shut his mouth so quickly that he felt the click of his teeth vibrating in his skull. 

“Oh, you’re gonna  _stab_  me? I’m so scared!” Big guy looked to his friends and laughed, but didn’t make a move towards Eddie. If the little guy had anything going for him, it was how terrifying his angry face was.

“Try me,” he said through his teeth. Richie felt a fearful shiver zip down his spine. It didn’t look like they wanted to test the waters, and the group of boys started to disperse even before big guy gave them the go ahead. They all glared at the two of them, and Richie knew he was seriously going to get it later. He’d be looking over his shoulder every time he stepped outside for the next month.

The moment they were alone, Richie shoved Eddie hard.

“What the  _fuck_  is your deal, dude!? A  _knife!_ On school grounds!” Richie didn’t think he’d ever seen an actual switchblade before, and he  _certainly_  didn’t expect his first time becoming acquainted with one to be because Eddie whipped it around like a streaker at a football game.

Eddie didn’t seem perturbed, and instead grinned at him slyly. He tossed the knife to him, and Richie struggled to catch it gingerly. “Open it,” he said, and waved his hand expectantly.

“Are you fuh– are you pulling my dick here? I’m not waving around a  _knife_  where anybody could see,” he said. He inspected it carefully, not wanting to open it and stab it through his hand.

“Richie, open it.” His tone left no room for argument, and Richie sighed. He held it away from himself and pushed the button to release the blade.

 _It was a hair comb_.

“You are fucking kidding me.” All carefulness thrown out the window, he held it close to his face. It truly was a fucking hair comb, it wasn’t even remotely a knife. It just looked like one.”Holy shit! Oh my f–  _ohhh_  my god.” He closed it and opened it back up again, giggling excitedly.

“Got it for a dollar at the prank store,” Eddie said. Richie looked at Eddie fondly, a wide grin plastered over his face.

“If they found out you were faking it, they would’ve whooped your  _ass,”_  he said, and they both laughed. Eddie kneeled down to collect Richie’s notebooks and school papers from where they’d been dumped on the ground. They both worked to stuff them haphazardly into his backpack; turned inside out for some reason. Richie handed Eddie his ‘switchblade’ back to him. “Fucking hair comb. Jesus Christ. I’m so in love with you right now, you have no clue.”

“Walk me home, Romeo,” Eddie said with a snort, and stood close enough to brush their knuckles together. He slipped the comb back into his pocket and let himself imagine that he watched Richie leagues more inconspicuously than he actually did. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Call me, at 3am in a lonely kitchen floor"  
> from prompt list: Leave a “Call Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about one character asking for another [be it at the brink of death/in a battlefield/knocking on the front door wounded, feel free to specify.]  
> reddie

**you have seven new messages. first message.**

_hey, it’s eddieward– shit, shit, fuck m–_

**next message.**

_hi, it’s eddie. uh– kaspbrak. eddie kaspbrak. it is… 3:05? am, and i can’t sleep. i’m sitting on our– my kitchen floor. i was gonna make some food but i got bored, it’s just sitting in the microwave. i can’t stop thinking about you… i’m sorry. i know you said not to call unless it’s an emergency, but i miss you. a lot. i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry. i love you._

**next message.**

_it’s me again, this time at 3:28. still - still in the am. still can’t sleep! remember when we were seventeen, and when you couldn’t sleep i’d come over and we’d play smash brothers all night? i totally sucked at it, cause i didn’t have a console of my own with my mom and all. i’m pretty sure half the time you called me over just to laugh at me getting mad for hours, but i don’t care. i miss that. i miss you. i hope you’re okay._

**next message.**

_hey, asshole, i know you’re fucking awake. i_ know _you’re just ignoring me. i hope your stomach drops every time the phone rings, you piece of shit. fuck you._

**next message.**

_i didn’t – i’m sorry, i didn’t mean that, i just– i’m– i miss you so fucking much, rich, i miss you, and i’m worried, and i hate that you’re not here and i j-juh-hust www-want-want you-hou back, please, i’m s-ss-sor-sorry, i love you._

**next message.**

_it’s 4:20 am. made me think of you, which is the dumbest thing ever. love you._

**next message.**

_i’m gonna stop calling, now. i have to go to work and it’s-it’s obvious you’re not gonna pick up; i don’t know what i thought i was gonna get out of this. i hope you’re happy – fuck, that sounded so passive aggressive. i really mean it. all i want is for you to be happy. i used to think i’d be a part of it, but… i guess not. and that’s okay. ‘cause you know that i… whatever. you know well enough. bye._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A reddie value me with ftm trans Richie (I NEED the trans representation rn) and Richie is having a bad day, with dysphoria or like transphobic people or somthing, and Eddie makes him feel better and it's cute"

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Eddie said, unable to focus past Richie’s melancholic attitude any longer. He’d come over after school to fix the Tozier’s lawn mower, as promised, and as always Richie led him to the garage and sat on the work bench that Went Tozier never used and kicked his heels against the legs while Eddie worked. Unlike always, Richie barely said a damn thing.

“I’m thinking,” Richie answered quietly.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” He got a dim laugh in return, and Eddie pressed his lips together in worry. He rubbed his nose with the heel of his palm, careful not to bump the nostril piercing he got because it made his mother angry and he ended up hating just as much as she did. He didn’t even bother to wipe his hands clean before he was boosting himself up to sit next to his best friend. “What’re you thinking about?”

Richie looked at him for a long while before he shifted his eyes away. He opened his mouth, lips quirked in preparation for whatever joke he was about to make, before he closed it again with a frown. Richie pushed his hair out of his face, hair he’d cropped short after coming out to try and look more masculine. No one liked it, not even himself, so he was trying to grow it back out. Now it got into his eyes and made him look like a missing Beatles member.

“I’m going to die alone,” he said with finality, like a scientist delivering the results of a years long study.

“ _What?_  Richie–”

“Nope, I’m going to. I know it. I’ve already accepted it, it just…” he sighed and looked to Eddie with a weak, trying smile, “it fockin’ sucks, mate, I tell yah.”

“You’re not gonna die alone, Richie, why would you think that?” He asked, and leaned closer. Richie shrugged.

“I dunno, the  _everything_  about me? I’m annoying, I’m a bit of a jackass, and, and–” his voice cracked, and he kicked the leg of the table a bit harder than necessary, “nobody wants to date a fuckin’ trans dude.” He tensed his shoulders in anger, but went lax and slumped. 

“What’s worse is, like, I should be mad, right? I should be pissed about the fact that it’s, like, transphobic or whatever but I– I  _get_  it. When you think about a guy you think about, like, the opposite of what I am. Gay guys don’t wanna date me cause I’m too girly, Straight girls don’t wanna date me cause I’m too girly, I don’t  _know_  any trans people other than myself and it’s– it’s–” 

Richie shoved his hands under his glasses to cover his eyes and let out a cracked sob. His shoulders shook and he curled in on himself, elbows resting on his knees. “It’s so fucking  _lonely_  knowing that I’m never gonna have anybody that loves me,” he said, voice muffled through his hands. 

“And I mmean, sure, people  _love_  me, like a-as a friend, but nobody’s ever gonna think I’m attractive enough to date mmme, even if they accept the whole trans thing they’re gonna think they’re  _settling_  for some– some fucking almost guy. Nobody’s gonna think I’m… like, sexy. I lost my virginity to a fucking  _straight guy_  cause I knew I’d n-n-never have sex if I was fucking honest about who I am and I– I can’t ev-even think about it without feeling  _sick_  and I–” 

He sucked in a raspy breath and wept. He cried until he was letting out mournful little hums with every breath. He cried until he was choking on his own spit. He cried until his face was red and his head ached. And Eddie sat next to him, throwing his forearm over his shoulder blades so he wouldn’t get his shirt dirty.

“Richie…” Eddie started, when the sobs and whimpers started to ebb, “can I… say something?”

“Sure.”

“I’m gay,” he said, even though Richie already knew, knew before anyone else, knew everything about him inside and out except  _this_. “Like, as gay as they come. All I think about is guys. But… you– I think that… you’re sexy.” He said, heart pounding painfully in his throat. “I can’t say that I… understand how you feel, cause I don’t, but you’re my best friend. And you’re a guy, Rich. Nothing else matters. You’re a guy. A really hot one - and that’s not– that’s not  _despite_  anything. You’re hot  _with_  everything that makes you trans. 

“I know my opinion isn’t anything to sneeze at, but… y’know,” he picked anxiously at a loose thread on his jeans, “that’s at least one person that knows how great you are. So there’s gotta be somebody out there that  _you_  like that appreciates you and, like, your body, the way you deserve.”

He looked over to him, a sick feeling twisting in his gut, to see Richie looking at him with wide eyes, however puffy and red. His tears were drying in his glasses, leaving a cloudy film, and his face was splotchy.

“Y– what?”

“You don’t have to like me back or anything, I’m just saying,” he said anxiously. Richie sniffled and shifted closer to him, twisting so he fully faced him. Eddie leaned closer, eyes on his lips, wet with spit and tears and bloody from pulling on the chapped skin with his teeth.

“Eds, I’ve loved you since I was nine years old,” he breathed. He put a tentative hand on Eddie’s thigh. Eddie wrapped his arm around his neck and pulled him close, careful not to touch as he pressed their lips together. Richie took him by the wrist and guided Eddie’s other hand to his jaw, not seeming to mind the gritty, oily smear his fingers left behind. 

His lips were salty and wet but they moved eagerly under his own, and when Richie broke off their kiss with a laugh and a wheeze because all the crying left him unable to breath through his nose, Eddie thought he’d never met anyone as breathtaking as Richie Tozier.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "do 20 for the thing!!"  
> from prompt list: 20. “let me distract you…”  
> reddie. nsfw

Richie sat perched on the edge of their couch, jiggling his leg anxiously. His laptop sat open on the coffee table in front of him, and his phone was right beside it on full volume. There was an episode of It’s Always Sunny playing in the background that he couldn’t find it in him to pay attention to. He sent in an application to his dream job, and all there was left to do was wait. For the past two hours his only thought was  _any minute now_. 

Eddie dropped something in the shower and he about jumped out of his skin at the loud clatter, relaxing only when he called out  _everything’s fine!_  and everything went quiet. He turned back to his laptop and refreshed the page. Richie settled back into his anxiousness once again - his inbox was still empty. 

“How’s it going, babe? Any news?” Eddie asked on his way out of the shower. He was shirtless, wearing only his pajama shorts that straddled that fine line between ‘too tight’ and ‘just tight enough.’ 

“Nothing yet,” he said, and took off his glasses so he could rub his eyes. “What if they never call? What if my application was so bad they don’t even wanna talk to me?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Eddie said, and walked around the couch so he could kneel in front of him. He reached for Richie’s hands and laced their fingers together. “You’re qualified, you have experience, they’d be lucky to have you.” He kissed Richie’s knuckles. “And if they don’t call you, then you can just send like twenty applications until they  _have_  to call you, even if it’s just to tell you to stop.” He smiled up at him, and Richie looked back at him with cotton soft eyes.

“And that’s why you’re my soulmate, baby.”

“You bet.”

Richie leaned down to kiss his forehead, but frowned at his empty email inbox before he even touched his lips to his skin. He whined and rested his head on Eddie’s, breathing deep the smell of his tea tree shampoo.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he complained, nosing at Eddie’s hairline.

“Well,” he said, and brought their clasped hands to his lips to press kisses to Richie’s fingers, “why don’t you  **let me distract you**?” He gently nudged Richie’s legs apart, fitting between them perfectly, and a little thrill went up his spine. Eddie let go of his hands to pull on the tie of his sweatpants, and he licked his lips.

“Baby…” Richie muttered, eyes trained on Eddie’s own that looked up at him through hooded lids. He nodded and shifted his hips up when Eddie tugged on the waistband, letting him pull down his pants enough to see the head of his hardening cock.

“It’s okay, baby,” he said, and pressed his thumbs into the divots of his hipbones, “I got you.” He pulled down Richie’s pants further and wrapped his fingers around the shaft, collecting the precum at his tip to smooth his strokes. The tension started to melt out of him, and his shoulders fully slumped when Eddie took the head of his cock into his mouth and gave it a gentle suck. He let out a soft moan and carded his fingers through his damp hair, eyelids fluttering shut when he took more of him.

He bit his lip hard with the effort of not rocking his hips up into the wet heat of his mouth. Eddie started to bob his head, hollowing his cheeks, and let out a little moan when he sunk back down. He jerked off what little of his length he couldn’t take comfortably, twisting his hand at the wrist.

“Fuck, fuck, Eds,” he whined, tugging gently on Eddie’s hair, giving a strangled noise when Eddie swirled his tongue over the head of his cock and pressed gently into the slit. He was so hard it felt like a heavy weight was pressing down on his abdomen, and he threw his head back thinking of how wonderful it would feel to meet that release. “If you keep going I’m gonna come, baby, I–”

His phone rang, interrupting their moment. Eddie pulled off of his cock with a  _pop_ , sucking his lower lip into his mouth to clean it of the spit that started to collect there and wiping his chin with his wrist. He grabbed for Richie’s phone and tried to push it into his hands.

“Is it them?”

“It’s an unknown number–”

“It could be a telemarketer–”

“It could be them–”

“But what if it isn’t–”

“Answer the fucking phone!”

Richie stressfully swiped to answer the call, pressing it to his ear with a fake cheerful  _hello!_  He listened as they talked, but zoned out after  _when can you come in_ , a wide grin spread out over his face. Richie hummed his agreeance, thanked them for the opportunity, yadda yadda,  _he had a job_. He disconnected the call and took a deep, steadying breath.

“So? So?? Rich? Did you get it?” Eddie pestered, his hands squeezing his thighs comfortingly.

“Hell yeah I did!” He said, and surged forwards to wrap up Eddie in a tight hug. “I start after the break, baby! You’re looking at one of Derry Elementary’s new third grade teachers!” He let out an excited squeal and pressed feverish kisses to Eddie’s cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his lips stretched in a smile.

“Fuck yeah!” Eddie cheered. “I knew you could do it.”

“You’re the smartest guy in the world,” he said, and nipped Eddie’s lower lip. “What say you and I celebrate this in the bedroom?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, and pulled up Richie’s sweatpants for him just so he could take them off later.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "could you do 3, 39, & 43 ?"  
> from prompt list:  
> 3\. “Why don’t you just fuck me right here, in front of all these people?”  
> 39\. “We’re gonna get caught.”  
> 43\. “The way he was looking at you made me want to fuck you right now in front of everyone here.”  
> reddie. nsfw

It wasn’t often that a music festival blew through Derry, and it was even less often that all the losers were free to attend. They piled into Mike’s truck, drew each others skin with paint and colored their hair with chalk, and set up to listen to whoever was willing to play in the middle of nowheresville Maine for hours on end.

The answer was, apparently, total creeps. 

There were some that lingered around groups of girls, offering free food or backstage tickets. Some that looked at Bev long enough for her to cross her arms over her chest and tug her crop top further down her waist. And there was one in particular that wouldn’t stop talking to Eddie.

It started innocent enough. They met at a food stand when Eddie pulled the short stick on getting everyone lunch. They talked, they laughed, they went separate ways without a suggestive comment or odd look. 

When he came back, Eddie introduced his nice new friend, and shrugged off Richie’s arm from around his shoulder to do so. He tried to convince himself that  _that_  was why he hated him so much, and not because he was a weirdo that put his hand on Eddie’s bicep for a second too long or because he kept finding convenient ways to bump into them.

It wasn’t until the blatant  _flirting_  started that the jealousy truly started to kick in. Richie kept his hand on Eddie’s sun warmed thigh while the two men talked. He posted some pictures of the festival to instagram and tried to ignore it - he trusted Eddie not to make a move on another guy, let alone while he was right there, but it didn’t piss him off any less. The guy chuckled at something Eddie said and clapped him on the shoulder, and Richie’s hand drifted up under the hem of Eddie’s shorts. He gave his inner thigh a squeeze.

“Y– uh,” Eddie choked, placing his hand over Richie’s but not forcing him off, “what was that? Sorry, I, uh, I got distracted.” He laughed and swallowed thickly. Richie brushed his knuckles against Eddie’s hardening cock, still not looking up from his phone. “Actually– can– can we pick this up later? I have to go and… do something. Right now.” He was up before he even got an answer, pulling Richie with him by the hand that touched up his thigh.

They were barely out of eyesight from their set up when Eddie stopped them behind a food truck.

“What’s up, babe?” Richie asked, sugar sweet and completely innocent. Eddie glared at him, but cracked a smile anyways.

“You tell me,” he said, and pulled Richie closer by the lapels of his hoodie. He stood up on his toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth. “What’s going on with you?”

“That fucking creep was coming on to you, Eds,” he said. He wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist and tilted his head to catch his lips in a full kiss. “ **The way he was looking at you made me want to fuck you in front of everyone here** ,” Richie admitted with a squeeze of Eddie’s hips. Eddie hummed at the words, leaning forwards to press their hips together.

“Why don’t you?” He asked, and nosed at Richie’s cheek.

“F– what?”

“ **Why don’t you just fuck me right here, in front of all these people**?” Richie choked. He opened his mouth to argue, but… he  _had_  suggested it, hadn’t he? The thought of fucking Eddie where anyone could see was oddly thrilling, and the persistent throb of his cock agreed.

“Are you serious, baby?” He asked, looking Eddie up and down. Eddie snorted and combed his fingers through Richie’s hair. He gave it a light tug.

“As a heart attack,” he confirmed, “as long as you are.”

“Always.” Richie connected their lips in another kiss. He pushed Eddie up against the back of the food truck, kissing down his jawline. He sucked a deep hickey into his neck, dark purple and obvious. It tugged at his guts to know that asshole guy would have to see it if he bothered to linger anymore. Richie blew air over the mark to make him shiver. Eddie swore quietly and wrapped his legs around Richie’s waist, rolling his hips against Richie’s for friction. “Fuck, Eds,” he said against his skin. He held Eddie’s thighs in a harsh enough grip to leave white marks.

He popped open the button of Eddie’s shorts, tugging on the zipper to give his hand enough room to pull out his cock, flushed and achingly hard. Precum wet the tip, and he collected it with his thumb to spread over his shaft as he jerked him off.

“Baby,” Eddie whined, “I want you.” He kissed Richie’s cheekbone, his chin, his jaw, one arm thrown over Richie’s shoulders to support himself and the other trying to stroke his cock through his jeans and unbutton them at the same time. Richie wrapped his fingers around Eddie’s wrist and held it still.

“Do something for me first, Eds.”

“Anything,” he promised.

“Say you’re mine,” he ordered. Eddie looked at him dead seriously, eyes glassy and hazed from lust, and carded his fingers through Richie’s hair. 

“I’m yours,” he said. He pressed a feverish kiss to Richie’s lips. “I’m yours, I’m yours,  _all yours_.” Richie groaned, chasing Eddie’s lips to pull him into a kiss full of teeth and tongue and possession. He sucked on Eddie’s lower lip and unbuttoned his jeans, stroking his cock to bring it to full hardness.

He lined his cock up with Eddie’s holding the both of them in his hand and grinning when Eddie outright moaned at the display of his size.

“Babe,” he warned, “ **we’re gonna get caught**.”

“I don’t care,” he said, and rocked up into Richie’s hand. “We get caught, everybody’ll see me with you, right? Everybody’ll know I’m yours.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” was all he could muster. He started to move his hand over their shafts, trying to keep up with the disorganized movements of them both grinding against each other. He added another mark to Eddie’s neck, biting a painful bruise just above his collarbone and egged on by Eddie’s whining moans. Richie kissed the spot gently, whispering  _mine, mine, mine_  between every touch of his lips like he could brand the word into his skin. 

“I’m gonna come, fuck, Rich–” He cut himself off with a keen, clenching his jaw and furrowing his brows. He rolled his hips, fucking into Richie’s hand as thick spurts of cum rolled down their cocks. Panting, he took a fistful of Richie’s hair and yanked as hard as he could muster. Richie cried out in surprise, his hand stuttering over his length, and came hard. He rode out his orgasm, lazily stroking his cock even though Eddie’s drying cum made it a sticky ordeal.

“I love you,” Richie said breathlessly, nosing at Eddie’s jaw.

“I love you, too,” Eddie assured.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "oooh for the prompt thingy: “do you believe in ghosts?” and “i swear my house is haunted” bc i heard you were good at horror ;) ♡"

Eddie’s socks padded delicately over the hardwood in his hallway. He bit his lip until his mouth tasted like copper, a baseball bat held tight in his grip, ready to swing. There was someone in the house.

It was exactly  _3:00 am_  when he heard the loud crash and subsequent shouting from his kitchen, something he knew because his baseball bat was kept right beside his digital alarm clock. His stomach turned over at the knowledge his christian upbringing taught him, that three in the morning was the witching hour, where evil spirits preyed upon the living. **  
**

But realistically, Eddie was a broke college student that rented in a shitty neighborhood, and he was getting robbed.

“ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to!_ ”

Eddie twirled his bat in his hand as he rounded the corner to get a clear view of his kitchen. Cowered behind his island was a woman somewhere in her twenties, with curly red hair falling out of a messy bun. She was in her pyjamas, mens boxer shorts and a tank top with one of the straps falling down. Her lip was busted open, and a bruise dug into her bicep in the shape of a hand.

“Hey, what the fuck!?” He shouted at her, but she didn’t listen. She was focused completely on some figure in space right in front of her.

“ _I’ll clean it up, I promise, I’m so sorry–_ ” She bit back a wail as some unseen force took her by the wrist and twisted, making her cringe and contort to try and lessen the pain. If Eddie squinted, he could see divots in her forearm where someone’s invisible hand pressed into her skin. She tried to slap at whatever was holding her, but that same force shoved her back. Her head cracked against the edge of his kitchen island, and he cried out as she crumpled like a rag doll.

“What the  _fuck!?_ ” Eddie repeated, dropping his bat to the ground and running into the kitchen. His socks slipped and his feet flew out from under him, but the moment he crashed into the floor he was scrambling back up. She laid there, eyes wide open and glassy, blood matting her hair to the side of her head. Her arm was tucked under herself in an odd angle. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my fucking god,” he said to himself. He snatched his landline off the wall and started to dial  _911_ , but when he looked back to check on her, she was gone.

The dial tone rung in his ear. He caught the time from his microwave.

_3:03 am._

It didn’t fucking  _stop_. There were four distinct apparitions that he knew of. They played on a random loop, some showing up over and over every night for a week, sometimes switching between each other over long periods of radio silence. But without fail, at exactly three in the morning, some noise from inside his apartment would jolt him awake. He’d wander, baseball bat in hand, until he found the source, and exactly three minutes later, it would stop.

On tuesday, it was a man in flannel pyjama pants. He screamed for help as his skin broke out into blisters and started to char and sear away. He was inside Eddie’s bedroom, pounding on the door, clawing at it until his nails lifted, jiggling the handle even though it, apparently, burned him every time he touched it. Eddie held his knees to his chest and sat in the corner of his bed, tucked against the wall, and sobbed with terror as the man gasped and choked on smoke that Eddie couldn’t see.

On friday, a man with dated, coke bottle glasses and a pinstripe suit dealt an invisible hand of poker at Eddie’s dinner table. His laugh rose him from his slumber, loud and boisterous as he talked smack over his cards. The brief notion that he looked just like Eddie’s type passed his mind before the man glanced up from his hand, and whatever he saw made his eyes go about as big as a goldfish. He stood up so fast the clatter of a chair hitting the ground rung out through the apartment, but none of Eddie’s furniture was disturbed. Eddie clapped his hands over his ears and bit his lips closed as gunshots popped off and the man was blown off his feet, riddled with holes.

Almost ten days later, Eddie got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. He caught a figure laying in his tub through the mirror when he washed his hands. And he squeezed his eyes shut and recited a short prayer before he slowly turned, wet hands chilling in the nighttime air. A man let out a choked whimper as he dragged a razor up one forearm, and then the other. He laid back and relaxed, eyes shut and mouth pressed shut in a display of fake calm. He slowly started to go lax, until Eddie blinked and he was gone.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Eddie asked one afternoon, curled up on one end of his couch. He jiggled his leg anxiously as he spoke into the mic of his headphones. He was speaking to Bill, his oldest friend. He’d taken the opportunity to study abroad in England, and the closest they got to face-to-face discussions were their weekly video calls.

“What?”

Eddie pressed his fingers into his eye, massaging the heavy circles that colored the undersides of his eyelids. “Ghosts, spirits, fucking undead souls, Bill, do you believe in them?”

“I– I mean…” Bill licked his lips, “I guess? I’ve never met one, but… I guess it’d be pretty dumb to say there wasn’t at least a chance.”

“Okay, okay, okay okay okay,” he rambled. He chewed lightly on his thumbnail and stared at his dining room table, where he watched a man be shot down.

“Are you okay, bud?” Bill asked, voice laden with concern. “You look kinda tired.”

“I’d kill for a xanax,” he confessed. “I can’t fucking sleep.”

“What’s going on? Does this have to do with me believing in ghosts?”

“I’m going insane is what’s going on.” He ran a hand through his hair and watched Bill as he moved from his desk to lay down on his bed. “Don’t laugh at me, or I’ll materialize in your dorm just to smother you with your own pillow.”

“Very graphic. Go on.”

“I swear my house is haunted.”

Bill laughed.

He caught himself midway, and clapped a hand over his mouth until the shaking in his shoulders stopped. Eddie glared at him the entire time.

“Sorry, sorry, I just–” He hugged his pillow close and rested his chin over it, “I’m gonna need some context.”

“I see shit at night. Like, people dying type shit. They make a fuckton of noise, and then they just,  _poof_ , go away.”

“Maybe it’s sleep paralysis. You used to get that all the time.”

“That was a side effect of my meds, Bill. I’m on SSRI’s now, they don’t do that. Plus, I’m never in bed when it happens. I mean, I was, like, once, but I could still move.” Eddie picked at the pilling on his couch.

“If it’s that big of a deal, then just move out.”

“I’m fucking poor, you asshole, I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Fair.” Bill tapped his fingers on his pillow. “Maybe it’ll just go away?”

“Maybe,” Eddie sighed. “I can’t do anything about it, so I might as well hope for the best.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Alright. I’m gonna go try and take a nap. You should go to bed too, what is it, like, almost midnight there?”

“Yeah.” He rolled over in bed so his face was squished against the pillow. “Goodnight buddy, try not to go crazy.”

“Goodnight, buddy.”

Eddie laid in bed for all of twenty minutes before he flung the covers off of himself and sat down at his computer. He pulled up his web browser and googled his apartment.

_UMaine Student Beverly Marsh Dies Suddenly at 20 Years Old in Her Home_

_Fire on Neibolt St. Takes the Life of Beloved Librarian Mike Hanlon_

_Organized Crime in Derry; the Life and Death of Richard “Richie” Tozier_

_‘I Had No Idea He Was So Unhappy’ Says Patricia Blum, Wife of Late Stanley Uris_

Eddie read every article two times over. The pictures of them looked exactly like the apparitions that appeared in his house in the early morning. A part of him was relieved that there were only four, because it meant he didn’t have to deal with anymore surprises. But the other part of him, the part of him that desperately needed rest and maybe a shot of tequila, screamed out in fear.  _it’s real!_  it cried.  _it’s all real! people died here! you’ve seen ghosts! you’re being tormented by the dead!_

He held his head in his hands and dreaded the oncoming nightfall.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fight me, Richie and Bill. Go fkin wild."  
> from prompt list: Leave a “Fight Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about one character fighting with/or against another.  
> violence and alcohol mentioned

Richie could count on exactly one hand how many times he fought with Bill in all the years they’d known each other. He was his best friend, he looked up to him, there was no real  _reason_  to fight. Except, sometimes, there was. 

Strangely enough he can’t remember the first time they fought, but he knows it happened, that the time Richie socked Bill in the jaw for jokingly calling him a faggot when they were fifteen wasn’t the  _first_  time they’d laid their hands on each other. He thinks it has something to do with Eddie breaking his arm, but he can’t remember and doesn’t dwell on what he doesn’t know.

They fight again, when they’re sixteen, and Bill is spending too much time with some girlfriend. Richie misses him, but is too proud and sixteen to say it, and calls his girlfriend a cunt instead. He gets a bloody nose and a black eye for that one, but Bill can’t hear right for almost a week afterwards. Hitting him in the ear was an accident, but he doesn’t regret it. 

The fifth and final time they fight is before college. They’re moving completely across the country, Bill to UMaine and Richie to UCLA. They’re drunk, Bill is angry that Richie doesn’t care he’s leaving everyone behind. Bev and Mike are going to UMaine, Ben, Eddie, and Stan are going to NYC, and Richie is just fucking off to the other side of the US. It’s not fair.

So he does what any emotionally constipated, drunk 18 year old would do. He starts shit. 

_a shhh-sh-shame you’re not g-gonna be here for this in a few m-m-mmmonths, huh, Rich?_

**what the fuck are you talking about, man?**

_ucla, dude. sssend me a post card when you mmiss the reunions._

**you’re wasted.**

_and you’re an asshole._

**c’mon, what’s going on? what’d i do?**

_fuck you, y-yy-you know what you did._

**obviously fucking not. if you’re gonna be such a bitch, i can just leave.**

_you’re good at that, aren’t you._

Richie makes the first move, dumps his beer on his shirt, and Bill drags him to the ground. They lock antlers, Richie’s arm around Bill’s neck and Bill’s fingers knotted in Richie’s hair. Bill’s face explodes in pain when he gets an open palmed slap to the face. He slams his head against the carpet, pushes his face down until his glasses are all askew on his face.

_fuck you!_

**fuck _you!_**

Richie brings up his knee and gets a near miss to his dick, he elbows him in the solar plexus the moment Bill’s hold on him goes lax. Bill kicks him in the side and they scuffle on the floor to pin each other down. It’s Bill who does it, his knees on Richie’s upper arms so he can’t hit him back. He busts Richie’s lip and hits him hard enough to split his eyebrow.

He doesn’t stop until Ben and Bev drag him off, screaming at him. He’s never seen Eddie so fucking hysterical as when he breaks Bill’s nose that night. He never saw Mike give anyone so much as a cold shoulder, but he outright glares at Bill when he calls an ambulance.

Richie has a fractured cheekbone, three dislocated knuckles, a fractured finger, and needs stitches in his lip and eyebrow. Bill has a broken nose, a fractured rib, a broken finger, and two dislocated knuckles. By the time Richie leaves, they’re still not ready to forgive, and don’t speak another word to each other for two years. But when they do, they hug, and apologize, and promise to call. 

Because they’re best friends, and maybe Bill looks up to Richie as much as Richie looks up to him, and there’s no real reason to fight. 

**Author's Note:**

> send me prompts and reqs and stuff on my tumblr [@sagansrecord](http://sagansrecord.tumblr.com/)


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